Knightmare on the Fury Road
by Vest and Bow Tie
Summary: Society has collapsed. Civil order is an antiquated idea. There is no crime, only survival. But in the wasteland, one remains to carry out justice. One man, one creature, one road warrior. One Mad Bat drives on the Fury Road. Based on Fury Road, Knightmare Batman and The Dark Knight Returns. No spoilers. Violence.
1. Chapter 1

_Knightmare on the Fury Road_

* * *

Bruce burst awake with a yell. Sweat streamed down his face. There was no light. _Where-_ He breathed hard. _In, out; in, out._ Bruce's eyes, hardened by years of darkness, quickly acclimatised. He was trapped in a small cave, its walls carved from rock. After a few moments, Bruce's mind shook off the fog of sleep. _Not trapped._ Bruce pushed his ragged blankets aside and he rose from his bed. _This is where I live now._ Slowly, his heart beat returned to normal. He sat up slowly, running one hand through his short salt and pepper hair. He turned to sit on the side of his bed. On a stool were two glasses of fluid. Bruce poured one into the other, and upon contact, the mixture glowed a soft white colour. He looked up to see Alfred, his loyal assistant, standing in the doorway. Bruce grimaced sheepishly.  
"Sorry, my friend," he said quietly. "Did I wake you?" Alfred made no reply. Bruce saw Alfred was carrying a tray with a jug of water and a clean rag. "What would I do without you?" Bruce took the rag and rubbed the sweat of his face and bare chest. He threw it onto a pile of similar such rags. Next, Bruce took the jug and drank straight from it, gulping the water deeply. When he had finished, he carefully replaced the jug on the tray. Bruce began to strip his nightclothes, commenting as he did so; "No sense in wasting time then, my friend." Alfred remained silent. "I can tell you disagree," Bruce quipped. "I've spent enough time with you to know how you think." Bruce paused momentarily, slipping his undershirt over his head. He continued speaking, cutting off Alfred.  
"I will sleep extra today, to make up for what I have lost over the week." Alfred regarded Bruce silently. Bruce frowned, pulling on his heavy-duty trousers. "Don't give me that look! I know what I'm doing." Bruce stalked from the room.

* * *

Jason Todd barely noticed the collapse of society. Before it came, he was living on the margins, stealing food, water and sleep wherever he could. When the oil wars came, and the water wars, Jason thrived. Now the whole world had to learn to live with nothing, as he had.

Jason lived on a motorcycle, stealing food, water and sleep wherever he could. Jason felt hunger curl in his stomach. He hadn't eaten in several days, instead drinking several litres of water each day. He was running low. He needed a proper meal, and to renew his supply of precious water.

Jason had been roaming the wasteland for long enough that he knew where most of the major tribes and cults lived. Immortan Joe and his lunatic war-boys lived in the citadel-spires that rose from the middle of flatlands. The Buzzards scurried about in the midlands, hiding behind hills and in deceptively deep depressions. The Rock Riders charge about the craggy highlands. Each had a use for lone wanderers like Jason, none of them pleasant.

Jason skirted these regions, instead looking for loners like himself. Jason had spotted one such loner yesterday. The sun had been just about to rise, orange light glowing on the horizon. The sight was beautiful, and one Jason enjoyed often. However this particular morning, a plume of dust had filtered the sun's first light. Jason had watched the source of the dust streak across the dirt; a fast vehicle.

Jason had followed the vehicle, keeping far enough away to avoid attention. Eventually the vehicle began to slow, approaching a cliff. Jason had peeled off, driving his motorcycle up to the top of the cliff. The route had been long and circuitous. By the time Jason had reached the top of the cliff, the vehicle was hidden and its driver disappeared.

So now Jason was waiting. If the driver returned from his excursion in the morning, Jason reasoned, he would leave again in the evening. Jason slept a few hours, his fingers wrapped around an aluminium baseball bat.

* * *

Bruce stepped from his bedroom into a low corridor. He had discovered this warren a few weeks ago, and made it his home. The caves were buried deep enough into the rock to stay cool, despite the furious attempts of the sun outside. There was also plenty of room for Bruce to store all of his equipment.

Bruce ducked into another chamber a few paces down the corridor. In front of Bruce was a wardrobe. There was a time when Bruce owned the finest furniture, ornately carved from old, expensive wood. Those times were long past. What stood in front of Bruce was a simple affair, but deceptive. Bruce had built it himself. Light, but strong. Locked securely. Bruce wore the key around his neck, hanging from a simple leather band. He held the key almost reverently, and slowly unlocked the heavy padlock.

There were only a few items in the wardrobe, but they were Bruce's most treasured possessions. Bruce pulled each item from the wardrobe, one by one, donning them ritualistically. First, a ballistics vest. The vest was old, and had been shot more than once. Bruce had glued strips of cloth to the surface, which had turned almost black with grime. Next, heavy combat boots. To his right thigh, he strapped a handgun holster, carrying a Glock 9mm. Before the collapse, the Glock had a reputation for infallible reliability. That reputation had proven true, even in the harsh wasteland. Bruce checked the load and action. Finding the pistol in working order, he replaced the magazine and racked the slide. No sense in carrying a firearm if it was not ready to fire.

Bruce next put on the most distinctive part of his equipment. He pulled on his mask, made of black rubber. The mask covered his face down to his nose, and a cowl flowed down over the back of his neck and shoulders. Sitting just above his eyes were old motorcycling goggles. To protect his mouth and throat, he wore grey scarf wrapped around his neck.

Bruce wrapped a utility belt around his waist. In another time, this belt had carried all kinds of high-tech gadgets. Now, though, it carried pouches, filled with items suited to a life in the wasteland; hydration packets, vitamin pills, adrenaline, among other things.

Bruce then pulled on a heavy trench-coat. Lastly, Bruce pulled on a pair of gauntlets. Bruce had pushed nails through the inside of the gauntlets so that they stuck out the outside, another weapon in Bruce's arsenal. Bruce cut a fearsome figure, dressed as he was.

Bruce walked slowly to the entrance to his cave. He was about halfway up a sheer cliff face. Before him was an incredible vista. Once, the land had been covered with trees, with buildings. Not anymore. Now, there was only sand, for as far as Bruce could see. Bruce slid his goggles down over his eyes.

* * *

Jason's eyes widened. Closer now that he was yesterday, he could clearly make out the features of the figure. Two spikes, short and narrow, jutted out of the top of the figure's mask. Jason had heard rumours of a man who cruised the wasteland, wearing the skin of a bat and bringing destruction wherever he drove. The people who told such stories were weak, timid, easily scared, but Jason could tell there was an element of truth to these tails. The man below him was heavily muscled; this was obvious even through the brown coat he wore. The man jumped from the cliff, arms outstretched. His coat flared, and for a moment, Jason believed the man would fly.


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce dropped five meters straight down. He hit the sand hard, grunting and dropping to one knee. His body protested the strain it was forced to undergo. A long time ago, when he was younger, Bruce could go for days without sleep, conducting his daily and nightly activities with no ill effects. Bruce was older now. He no longer had the luxury of a young body. That was proven to him, recently. Bruce walked the few steps to where his vehicle was hidden. Already, after only a few moments, he was sweating profusely. He would have to get out of the sun, and get to his water supply.

Bruce heaved the heavy canvas cover off of his 1979 Holden HZ Ute. A previous owner had added a massive bulbar to the front. Along the sides, lengths of pipe were welded to the body. The wheels had vicious plates of metal welded to the hubcaps. The tray held one huge tank, for petrol, and a smaller tank, for water. Bruce knelt behind the Ute, reaching under the tray. To the exhaust pipe was strapped a machete. A little further behind that was a small switch. Bruce flicked the switch.

* * *

Jason frowned, slightly disappointed. While the Ute was a practical vehicle for the wasteland, it was hardly the ride of a legendary Road Warrior. Jason had thought the batman would drive something ferocious, perhaps even one of the last V8s. Jason waited for the figure to drive off. He noted that before he did, he knelt behind the Ute for a moment.

 _A practical vehicle, and a nasty surprise for scavengers… Perhaps it is more worthy than I had thought._ The Ute drove off, and Jason waited until he could barely see the dust trail. _As long as it takes him away from here._

Jason rose from where he had been lying. He looked over the edge of the cliff carefully. From both below and above, the cliff-side entrance was difficult to access. It was no wonder the batman chose to simply drop to the ground. Jason lowered himself over the edge, and began the climb down.

* * *

Bruce was a careful soul. Paying attention to detail had saved his life in the old days. He was known as the world's greatest detective for it, once. He needed to recover those skills. A few weeks ago, he heard rumours of a new batch of lunatics carving territory for themselves. They called themselves the Mutants. Bruce had investigated.

The Mutants were all young. They were all products of the wasteland. Children of warlords, cast out for their physical or mental deformities. These were people who had never known the world before the wasteland. They were more violent than the Buzzards, more jealous than Immortan Joe, more cunning than the Rock Riders.

A week ago, they started to push into the city ruins – territory Bruce liked to consider his own.

A few days ago, Bruce had been there to meet them. He wanted to send a message, to send them crawling back to their master. He realised now that mercy had been his first mistake.

* * *

 _Bruce was stalking a supply convoy. There were commodities that the factions could not make themselves, which had to be scavenged from the cities. Electrical components, rope, and other such items. So a few of the city dwellers traded with the Buzzards, the Rock Riders and the War Boys. The convoy passed under a ridge. This was a vulnerable place for the convoy, and the Mutants took advantage. Bruce had been waiting for just such an attack. The Mutants had backed the convoy against the ridge, with no escape._

 _Bruce surveyed each party. From the city dwellers, three mangy, old men, and one unlucky woman. The Mutants would not kill the woman, as they would the men. That, however, was no comfort for the woman. The mutants had sent a few of the youngest to cut their teeth, along with one veteran. Six young boys, hardly up to Bruce's shoulders, and one hulking beast._

 _Bruce jumped off the ridge, landing with a metallic clang on the roof of one of the convoy vehicles. The mutants howled, their bloodlust rising._

They relish the chance to prove themselves…

 _Bruce remembered how children had been before the collapse. He fought down the memories of Carrie, of Tim, of Dick._

Concentrate…

 _The convoy members yelped and withdrew, climbing back into their vehicles. Bruce looked around._

This is how it should be…

 _He leaped off the car roof, toward the nearest Mutant. He misjudged his leap, aiming for an adult, and the mutant easily ducked under his body slam. Bruce landed awkwardly, expecting the resistance of a body, and stumbled forward a step. The Mutant leaped onto Bruce's back, wrapping his legs around Bruce's waist and yanking on Bruce's scarf._

 _Bruce felt his scarf tighten around his neck and swallowed. He reached over his head and grabbed the Mutant, ripping the attacker off his back. Bruce tossed the light Mutant easily, and the Mutant stayed down, dazed._

 _The younger Mutants approached Bruce warily, but the veteran hung back, waiting. Bruce was outnumbered. He needed to act before the Mutants realised. He lashed out at the tallest Mutant. The boy blocked with his elbow, and quick as lightning, trapped Bruce's arm under his own. He turned, and keeping Bruce's arm trapped, put pressure on Bruce's elbow._

 _Bruce whipped his fist past the other boy's face, racking the nails in his gauntlets across the Mutant's face. The boy squealed and released Bruce's arm to cover his face with his hands. Bruce pushed his advantage with a savage kick to the boy's abdomen. The Mutant landed on his back in the sand, curled into a ball. Bruce should have turned back to the other boys. He should have knocked each one around a little. He should have done what he came for._

 _Instead he hesitated. The boy in the sand, curled into a ball. Blood was dripping from between his fingers, mixed with tears. Bruce imagined for a moment that the boy was Tim, or Dick. The other boys, shocked into a frenzy, leaped into action to avenge their brother. All four of them launched themselves at Bruce at once. Bruce knocked one to the ground with a blow to the head, but one was climbing his back, and the other two were punching his stomach, kicking his knees, reaching to scratch his eyes._

 _Bruce roared, a fearsome cry which even the Buzzards respected. The crazed Mutants payed it no heed. Bruce snarled, feeling the slow rise of panic. He wrapped his hand around one of the boy's throat. He dropped to one knee, slamming the boy into the ground. The other Mutants howled, and leaped onto his back. Bruce stood, and threw himself backwards. The mutants squealed and let go, but for two, it was too late. Bruce felt soft, young bones break beneath his weight. He stayed on his back for a moment, catching the last remaining boy's foot as he tried to kick Bruce. Bruce twisted the foot savagely, snapping the boy's ankle._

 _The boy cried out, a shrill scream. Bruce was about to rise, but before he could, he felt two strong hands grip the side of his head._

Damnit. The beast. I should have been paying more attention…

 _Bruce reached for his Glock, but the Mutant stepped over Bruce's head and stomped on Bruce's wrist. Bruce's wrist felt like it was on fire. With his other hand, he punched straight up. The Mutant grunted, but did not release pressure on Bruce's head, or his wrist. Bruce punched again, and the Mutant released one hand to catch Bruce's fist. Bruce Let the Mutant grab his hand. With his captured hand, he pulled suddenly down, and with his ruined wrist, he pushed up. Slightly off balance, the mutant stumbled._

 _The moment was enough for Bruce to rise. His wrist ached, his back was sore and his head felt an inch smaller. The mutant, however, looked like he could tumble all day. Bruce withdrew a small glass vial from a pocket on his belt. He tossed it at the ground. It exploded with a flash and a loud bang. The Mutant snarled and recoiled, head spinning. By the time the Mutant had recovered his senses, Bruce was long gone._


	3. Chapter 3

Jason dropped the last few feet, into the mouth of the cave. He paused here, looking carefully for traps. He sat silently, listening. The cave was silent, apparently empty. Still, Jason clutched his baseball bat tightly.

He stepped lightly into the cave. He paused for a moment. It had been night outside, but the wasteland was never truly dark. The stars shone brightly, bathing the sand in an eerie silver glow. Inside the cave was true darkness. Jason considered using his torch, but batteries were rare, and his sight seemed to be adjusting.

Jason saw that he was in a low corridor, with even darker cave entrance-ways opening off to the sides. Unlike the others, from the last entrance-way seemed to be coming a soft glow. Intrigued, Jason moved closer. He glanced through the other arches, but could see nothing.

Jason sidled up to the last arch. He gripped his crowbar, took a breath, and stepped around the corner. Jason saw a figure, and raised his baseball bat. The figure made no motion, offensive or defensive. After a moment, Jason's eyes adjusted to the light and he say that the figure was merely a mannequin, dressed in a shabby tuxedo.

The source of the light was a wooden bowl on a box by a mattress. Jason moved closer. The bowl held a glowing liquid. It was unlike any light Jason could remember seeing. It was consistent, not flickering like fire, and a soft blue, not the harsh yellow of electric lighting.

A chill ran down Jason's spine, and he remembered why he was in the cave. He began searching through the rooms for food and water, bringing the bowl with him into the dark rooms.

* * *

Bruce drove at a slow cruise. He had all night, and the Ute's engine was most efficient at this speed. It gave him time to think.

 _There are too many mutants to tackle all at once. They have to be stopped centrally._

Bruce knew how Alfred would respond to this.

"Master Bruce, why must they be stopped at all? The city is beyond saving, even you must see that."

 _There are still those that live in the city, old friend. I still have to protect them._

To this, Alfred would have snorted.

"You don't owe those people anything. You gave them your all before, and still they allowed the collapse."

Bruce shook his head, imagining his own reply.

 _Then what the hell is the point of living, my old friend? Without purpose, I would have laid down and died a long time ago._

Bruce could see Alfred purse his lips, but say nothing more.

* * *

Gotham city remained largely as it had been. This difference was that now all of downtown was buried in a sand dune. The vile, desperate survivors still crawled the alleys and the rich still occupied their sky-scraping penthouses. The difference was now the rich were dead, and the survivors thrived.

Bruce pulled up to a warehouse which had once belonged to a multinational corporation. He pulled a key from inside his coat and unlocked the padlock. He drove his Ute through the gateway, then closed the door behind him.

He stepped into a small administrative structure by the doorway and flicked a few switches. Slowly, electric lights snapped on along the length of the warehouse. The warehouse was long, once an assembly building for private aircraft. At the end of the warehouse were shelves, stacked with boxes filled with files. Once, these had been Bruce's obsession.

Opposite the shelves were several tall glass cases. Before those were large objects covered by tarps. A few edges stuck out, of black metal and sharp lines.

Bruce walked past the tarp covered objects to the glass cases. In each was a different variation on the armour he wore today. The first was simply grey skins and a blue cape. The cowl and mask, he remembered, had been destroyed. The next was more armoured and in darker colours. Each suit progressed in the same way, becoming fiercer, more defensive and more aggressive.

The last case, however, held a different suit. This one was differently coloured. Made of the same material as the armour Bruce now wore, this suit was a dark red, with dirty yellow accents. Bruce pulled his cowl and mask off. No matter how many times he saw this suit, it still struck a chord with him. He knelt before the case, and closed his eyes.

 _Why do I have to destroy the Mutants, old friend? Because the wasteland killed Tim, Dick, and Carrie, and in their stead, created the Mutants. My Robins deserve justice._

"Master Bruce, that sounds like Revenge, not Justice."

 _Sometimes, old friend, they are the same._

* * *

Jason placed the wooden bowl carefully back where he had found it. His search had returned little. There was no food, no water and no fuel in the cave. It seemed that the batman kept his supplies elsewhere. Jason would have to follow him the next evening, to see where he went.

He had, however, found something very interesting. One room was empty of furniture. The walls were covered with graffiti. Bright yellow words covered every surface, arranged such that they radiated out from the back wall. On the back wall were three dark red stains, resembling eyes and a mouth, twisted in a gruesome grin. The yellow writing screamed from the face, "WHY SO SERIOUS?"

As it radiated outward, it became less legible, disintegrating into simple laughter. Finally, at the edges of the room were the words "Who's laughing now?"


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce rose from the ground, and with a final glance at the Robins' armour, walked away. He came to one of the large objects covered by a tarp. His cowl and mask, he placed on a nearby workbench. Next to it, he put his gauntlets. He threw his trench-coat over a nearby chair. He turned to face the tarp covered object.

He grasped the tarp in both hands and swept it to the ground. Beneath the tarp was a car, but unlike any ordinary car. Bruce grimaced.

 _Not that any of the cars these days are 'ordinary.'_

The car was all angles. There was no curves on the body or armour, only straight lines. While the car was obviously a custom order, it had been further modified. The suspension had been raised, and larger tires fitted. While once outfitted for stealth, this was no longer the goal. Instead of formerly sleek black panelling, the surface had been covered with various types of armour, and spikes. The vehicle was imposing to behold.

 _Tim used to call her the_ batmobile… _she looks more like a porcupine now._

However, it was not quite complete. Bruce had been grooming this vehicle ever since that start of the collapse. It had gone through several versions. Initially designed for the dark streets of downtown Gotham, he had adapted it for the wasteland. Now, it needed a few more tweaks before it would be finished. Bruce set to work.

* * *

Jason stood at the mouth of the cave, staring into the night. The sky was clear, and filled with stars. Thousands upon thousands, more than was possible to count. Jason enjoyed watching the sky. While the wasteland was dirty, loud, violent, the sky was the opposite. It seemed peaceful, clean and quiet. As Jason watched, a shooting star streaked across the sky. It flashed brightly for a moment, and then died down again. Jason smiled sadly, and turned his mind back to his situation. He decided to climb up the way he had come down. He would wait for the batman to come back, and follow him the next evening when he left.

* * *

Bruce sat in the cockpit of his vehicle. He had worked for a few hours, becoming absorbed in the engineering. Machines made sense. They were bound by the laws of physics; motion, kinematics, thermodynamics, it was all possible to study. Not like people; not like fate.

Bruce flipped a few switches, a security sequence. He hesitated for a moment before pressing the last button. When he did, the engine roared, as if it were delighted to be finally used after so long resting. The whole vehicle hummed, a vibration that Bruce felt in his core. His eyes narrowed, and he could feel adrenaline leaking into his system. He breathed hard, and switched the engine off.

Bruce sat back in the racing-grade seat, gripping the wheel until his knuckles were white. Bruce felt a fierce sense of pride for the machine he had created. He climbed out of the cockpit and slid to the ground. He walked to the door and lifted it. He stared at the sky for a moment. From its colour, he judged he had about two hours before dawn.

He walked back to his workbench and replaced his mask and cowl, his coat and his gauntlets. He then walked to a doorway leading to what had once been an office adjoining the warehouse. Inside the office, Bruce stored his food and water. He grabbed a bottle of water, and a packet of dried rations. He climbed back into the car, throwing the food and water into a storage compartment behind his head. He keyed the start-up sequence again. The engine roared again, then settled into a low growl.

Bruce slowly drove the car out the door. He slid out again and pulled the door closed, locking it. He returned to his car, and pulled the door shut. With the door sealed, Bruce could hardly hear the engine. He gunned the accelerator, and the shot away. Bruce turned the wheel, and the car swung around a tight arc. Bruce leaned on the accelerator and the car screeched to a stop. Bruce smiled. His creation was beautiful. He wanted to test her, but it was too late tonight. Besides, he had promised Alfred he would sleep extra tonight. He drove out of the city, into the wasteland. The cruise home was uneventful.

* * *

Jason was dozing on the clifftop when he heard the batman return. He crawled on his stomach to the edge of the cliff. The car that approached the cliff was not the one the batman had left in. this car was far meaner.

 _Now_ that _is a car that a batman should drive._

The batman climbed out and covered his new vehicle with the dirty canvas that had hidden the Ute. Jason crawled back from the edge of the cliff, but he could still hear the batman as he climbed the cliff. Jason considered stealing the batman's car. With a vehicle like that, he would be unstoppable. He could start his own gang, pull together a few more loners. He could carve out territory for himself.

He started to check all his equipment, preparing to drive his motorcycle down, but something made him stop. The memory of the face and the writing in the dark cave. Something bad had happened to the batman, something which he had never let go. Jason had a sense that if he stole that car, the batman would not stop until the car was returned and Jason was dead.

So Jason lay down, staring at the sky. He would sleep through the day, and tomorrow night, he would follow the batman.

* * *

Bruce burst awake, crazed laughter still ringing in his ears. He gasped, and writhed free of his covers. He fell to the ground, and crawled from his sleeping cave. He snarled, but still the laughter followed him. He stood, and stumbled into his shrine, falling through the door. The face on the wall laughed at him.

 _Why so serious, Batsy?_

"Why won't you die?" Bruce yelled at the face.

 _You already killed me. You can't do it again, that's just greedy._

"Why are you still with me?"

 _Because I'm the only one who could stop you, Batsy. The unstoppable force and the immovable object, remember? Without me, you've got nothing to fight. Now_ You're _the dog chasing cars. And it's going to kill you._

"I still fight! I fight for—"

 _For the wretches that hide in the ruins of a destroyed city? What makes the people of Gotham any more worth saving than any other person in the wasteland?_

Bruce yelled wordlessly, and the face laughed at him. Bruce lapsed into unconsciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

Jason woke in the late afternoon. He sat up and stared at the view. The wasteland had a strange beauty, especially in the late afternoon light. The sandy plains had a slightly alien look, as if lifted from another planet. Jason lay on his stomach at the cliff edge, waiting.

He did not have to wait long. The batman emerged at sunset, and leaped to the ground. He uncovered his new vehicle and drove off, into the plains. Jason prepared his own ride, and gave chase.

* * *

Jason rode a few hundred meters behind the batman's vehicle; far enough behind to be undetected. After only a few minutes, it was clear that the batman was not going to the same place. Where yesterday evening, he had peeled to the right after leaving his cave, tonight he veered left, toward the hilly midlands. Buzzard territory. Jason felt pricks of sweat start to bead, despite the cold of the night. He considered leaving, driving in the opposite direction, but his stomach growled, and that was all the convincing Jason needed.

 _Who knows when I'll find someone else to steal from? If I don't eat soon…_

So Jason followed the batman. After about 40 minutes of cruising, Jason noticed the batman speed up. He squinted into the distance, and through the batman's dust trail, he could see lights flickering.

 _Perhaps this is a friendly settlement. Perhaps the batman trades with these people._

But Jason was not convinced. He accelerated to keep up with the batman. They drove until the batman was almost on top of the source of the lights; a camp. Jason slowed, considering his next move. The batman suddenly swerved, and Jason stopped. He had not switched on his headlamp the whole ride, and Jason hoped that the batman had not seen him. The batman appeared to have other things on his mind; his swerving seemed unrelated to Jason. The batman drove a circuit around the camp, wheels spinning and throwing dust into the air.

Jason's blood ran cold. The batman hadn't come here to trade with these people.

The whole camp was woken by the batman's arrival, and they rushed to their weapons. Curiously, they seemed to be mostly children. Jason had learned that age was no prerequisite for brutality. Jason stared grimly at scene unfolding before him. This was better than he had expected. He would loot from these people whatever the batman did not.

* * *

Bruce drove one final time around the camp. The night, fortuitously, was not windy, and the air was thick with dust. Most people would only be able to see a few meters. Bruce, however, was not most people. He slammed on the brakes, and heaved the hatch open. He jumped atop his car, slamming the door hatch. He yelled wordlessly, and was greeted by the howls of the children and the growls of the adults.

He leaped from his car, and was greeted by a group of children. Bruce wasted no time. He broke the first's nose with a fist. He snapped a few ribs on the second with a fast kick. The last pair, he knocked their heads together, cartoon style. More and more children were gathering, and Bruce gestured to their fallen comrades.

"Enough!" He roared, "is there no-one here to challenge me!" The children shrank back. Bruce's expression remained fierce, but his heart leaped. He didn't have the stomach to bash around children. He suspected that their zeal was tied to a leader, and by taking him down, Bruce could replace him.

In answer to his challenge, a hulking figure emerged from dust. Bruce swallowed. As the huge man moved closer, Bruce recognised him as the leader of the raid he had intercepted. The figure bellowed, louder than Bruce thought any man could, and charged at Bruce. Bruce pulled his Glock from his holster and squeezed off four shots. All of them sank into the Mutant's chest, but he didn't slow. Bruce's eyes widened, but only for a moment. He twisted away a second too late.

Bruce felt all the air leave his lungs as his chest was impacted. Bruce gasped, filling his lungs again. The Mutant took a step back, and grinned. "You slow, old man"

* * *

Jason watched the fight with interest. The batman took a hit, and Jason winced. Suddenly, a rough hand grabbed Jason's shoulder and spun him around. A face smashed into Jason's own, screaming. Jason felt his nose crack and start to bleed. His attacker took a step back, and Jason saw a twisted, broken woman. She had only one arm, and her face was scarred. Jason thought fast, and spoke faster.

"Stop! I'm with the batman. If you hurt me—" The woman ignored him and screamed, launching herself at Jason. She tackled him to the ground, in a rage. She wrapped her hands around his throat, and slammed his head into the ground, again and again and again until Jason went limp.

* * *

Bruce pulled something from one of his pouches. The Mutant jabbed at Bruce. Bruce grabbed the man's arm, and slapped it, then let it go. The Mutant children, who had gathered, yelled insults and howled. The Mutant grinned at his supporters.

"For an old man, you fight like a girl."

Bruce ignored the insult. He blocked another jab, and a kick. The Mutant snarled, and swung a wicked right cross. Bruce sidestepped, barely.

"You'll be slow too, when that cocaine works its way through you."

"Just words, old man," the Mutant laughed.

Bruce dodged another cross. The Mutant's momentum carried him off balance, and Bruce struck back with a two-handed slam to the Mutant's collarbone. Bruce followed with a kick to the small of the Mutant's back. The Mutant stumbled away. Bruce followed the Mutant, still talking.

"The patch on your arm, it gave you a dose of cocaine." The Mutant kicked feebly, and Bruce grabbed the leg, smashing the knee with his fist, then driving the nails in his gauntlets into the fleshy underside of the Mutant's thigh. The Mutant howled, this time in pain. Bruce carried on.

"You've probably taken cocaine, but this stuff is different." He punched the leader in his gut. And again. And again. He stepped back for a moment, and threw himself into a kick to the Mutant's solar plexus. Bruce felt ribs crack beneath his foot, and the Mutant spat blood.

"You know, cocaine was originally used as an anaesthetic." Bruce jabbed at the Mutant, who blocked feebly. Bruce had him on the ropes now, he could feel it. But he wasn't finished. He had to make sure the rest of the group got the message. Bruce grabbed the Mutant by the shoulders, and drove his knee into the Mutant's stomach.

"Your body is falling asleep, betraying you." One last right cross, and the Mutant was flattened. He hit the ground, and didn't get up. Bruce stomped on his back once, just to be safe. The Mutant did not react. He turned to face the rest of the children. They had become silent when their leader had fallen. Bruce frowned sternly at the small figures before him. They were just children. They needed an example to follow. Bruce took a breath to address the group, but a shotgun blast interrupted him.

Bruce whirled to face the gunman, dropping to a crouch and pawing at his thigh holster. His Glock had been knocked away in the fight with the Mutant leader. Instead he drew his short-bladed throwing knives, slotting them between his fingers.

An older Mutant stood, shotgun pressed to the head of a kneeling figure. A few more stood behind this Mutant, rallying around him.

"Old Man, we have your accomplice!"

Bruce frowned. He did not recognise the man on the ground. He was clearly not one of the Mutants; he had no physical deformities, and no immediately apparent mental ilness. Bruce drew himself up to his full height. He took a few seconds to look around, glaring at the Mutants closer to him.

"Let him go." Bruce voice was low and quiet. It was the kind of voice lion tamers used to assert dominance without stimulating aggression. It was a voice that had reduced the fiercest criminals of Gotham to quivering wrecks. The Mutant, however, simply laughed, and blasted a crater into the sand in front of his prisoner. The kneeling man flinched away from the sound.

Overhead, a light streaked through the sky. The Mutant with the shotgun looked up at the light. Bruce took his chance. From his belt, he pulled a short bladed knife, and flicked it at the Mutant. He sprinted after his knife. The mutant looked down in time to see metal bat sink into his hand. He cried out, and dropped the shotgun. A second later, Bruce slammed into him. Bruce scooped up the kneeling man, throwing him over his shoulder. The mutants were getting over their shock, and were uniting behind their new leader. Bruce snarled, and bolted for the batmobile. He unceremoniously dumped the man into the batmobile's second seat and jumped into the front himself. Without waiting for the hatch to lower, he floored the accelerator, and sped away. The batmobile was followed by a hurricane of insults and spears.


End file.
